Academic shaming and the hustle culture

By Pearl Wematu Puwurayire

In the now-familiar social media debate over a Dutch passport versus a Doctor of Philosophy (PhD), the verdict was swift. The social media jury ruled unanimously in favour of the Dutch passport. For many young people, the reasoning seemed obvious. A passport represented mobility, opportunity, financial security and the possibility of a better life abroad. A PhD, on the other hand, represented years of study to become “too-knowing”, with no guarantee of employment, or, in the worst case, living an average life – one wife, four children, a few thousand cedis in salary, one government bungalow and one car.

It is difficult to fault the reasoning of recent young adults. Ghana’s persistent unemployment crisis has left thousands of graduates searching for work long after completing university. Almost every young person knows someone who excelled academically only to graduate into unemployment. They have watched brilliant students abandon careers in engineering, teaching, planning and the sciences to sell clothes online, drive for ride-hailing services, trade cryptocurrencies, become content creators or take on whatever work is available simply to survive.

In that context, choosing a passport over a PhD appears to be a rational response to economic realities and less of a rejection of the education system. Yet beneath these conversations lies a subtle but far more damaging trend. Ghana is not only experiencing an unemployment crisis. It is also experiencing the normalisation of academic shaming and the nonsensical dismissal of knowledge acquisition.

Increasingly, intellectual achievement is treated as something to mock rather than admire. Students and scholars who spend long hours studying are dismissed as “bookish” or “too knowing”. Young scholars are told they live in theory rather than reality or practicality. Reading and making theory-based arguments are equated with naivety. Asking thoughtful questions is mistaken for showing off. Academic excellence is portrayed not as discipline or curiosity, but as evidence of someone’s disconnection from the “real world”.

These attitudes are no longer confined to social media or everyday conversations. They are increasingly reinforced by influential public figures. During an interview, a prominent Ghanaian politician remarked, “There is no professor billionaire,” arguing that formal education does not necessarily lead to wealth. More recently, a former Minister of Education questioned the value of studying Development Studies at university, despite the irony of making that statement in relation to a university internationally recognised for that very discipline.

Whether intended as criticism of the education system or encouragement towards entrepreneurship, these remarks carried a powerful message: knowledge matters only if it produces immediate financial returns.

That message has consequences.

Growing up, one of my greatest dreams was to become a university lecturer. Part of the dream was admittedly superficial. I could not wait to join the University Teachers Association of Ghana (UTAG), proudly display its sticker on my car and feel that I had become part of a profession I deeply admired.

More importantly, I wanted to influence young people the way a female lecturer once inspired me to believe I belonged in academia. When that dream became a reality, I expected to teach students whose intellectual curiosity resembled my own during my undergraduate years.

Instead, I encountered a generation shaped by a very different social climate. Lecture halls were full, yet discussions were often carried on by the same five students. Assignments frequently reflected minimal effort or were copied directly from online sources. Invigilating examinations sometimes felt less like supervising learning and more like preventing attempts to outsmart the system.

Many students appeared bright, capable and ambitious. But increasingly, university appeared to be something to get through rather than something to immerse themselves in.

At first, I blamed changing study habits. Later, I realised I was witnessing something much deeper.

Many students had internalised the belief that the real work of life happened outside the classroom. Their energy was divided between lectures and businesses, between assignments and social media influencing, and between preparing for examinations and searching for the next source of income.

This was not because they were lazy. Many were under genuine financial pressure. Others simply believed that academic excellence no longer translated into opportunity.

The hustle culture had become not only an economic necessity but also a cultural ideal.

There is nothing inherently wrong with hustling. Entrepreneurship has transformed lives, created employment and contributed enormously to Ghana’s economy. Every economy needs innovators, business owners and risk-takers. The problem begins when hustling is celebrated at the expense of learning, and when entrepreneurship is presented as an alternative to education rather than something strengthened by it.

Today, many graduates are encouraged to “just start a business”. Yet very few conversations focus on what successful entrepreneurship actually requires. Running a business demands financial literacy, strategic thinking, market analysis, customer relations, negotiation, record-keeping and long-term planning. These are not instincts people are born with. They are skills developed through learning, experience and mentorship.

As a result, many young people find themselves caught between two worlds. They are unable to devote themselves fully to their studies because they are trying to hustle, yet they are also unable to build sustainable businesses because they lack the experience and knowledge entrepreneurship demands.

Instead of producing excellent graduates or successful entrepreneurs, we risk producing people who are only partially prepared for either.

The consequences extend beyond individual careers.

When students begin to see the university primarily as a certificate-granting institution rather than a place of learning, academic dishonesty becomes easier to justify. If the goal is simply to graduate, then copying assignments, memorising without understanding or taking shortcuts no longer seem morally troubling. The acquisition of knowledge becomes secondary, and credentials become everything.

Over time, this produces what I fear most: “half-baked” professionals. A society cannot thrive when engineers lack confidence in engineering, planners struggle to interpret planning regulations, teachers stop reading, nurses rely solely on memorisation or public administrators lack the analytical skills required to solve complex problems. These ultimately create systemic national challenges.

The same logic also shapes our understanding of success. When wealth becomes the primary measure of achievement, society becomes less interested in how that wealth was created. Expertise, integrity and years of disciplined study receive less recognition than visible displays of financial success.

In such an environment, corruption becomes easier to rationalise because outcomes begin to matter more than processes.

Ironically, the same society that mocks intellectuals continues to depend on them every single day. Every entrepreneur relies on engineers who design roads, doctors who protect public health, scientists who develop medicines, teachers who educate future workers, planners who organise cities and researchers whose evidence informs public policy.

Even the innovations that power modern entrepreneurship are products of years of research, experimentation and intellectual curiosity.

The choice, therefore, is not between education and entrepreneurship. It is not between hustling and learning. Every thriving society requires both.

Ghana’s unemployment crisis is real, and no amount of optimism can erase the frustrations of graduates who struggle to find meaningful work. Young people will continue to hustle because many have little choice. But we should be deeply concerned when survival evolves into a culture that ridicules scholarship, dismisses expertise and treats intellectual ambition as foolish.

The tragedy is not that young Ghanaians hustle. The tragedy is that many are beginning to believe they must stop learning in order to succeed.

A nation that teaches its young people to distrust knowledge eventually pays the price. Not immediately, but gradually. In its classrooms. In its hospitals. In its businesses. In its public institutions. And ultimately, in its future.

The conversation should never have been about choosing between a Dutch passport and a PhD. The more important question is why so many young people feel that years of learning have become less valuable than the hope of leaving.

Until we answer that question, academic shaming will continue to flourish, and with it, the gradual erosion of the intellectual foundations on which every prosperous society is built.

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